


Just a Little Bit of Your Heart

by tomfoolery14



Series: Writer's Month 2020 [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Communication, Light Angst, M/M, growing back together, set between s2 and s3, the healing aftermath of the malec breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomfoolery14/pseuds/tomfoolery14
Summary: “Is that story about Varna actually true?”Magnus gasped, looking playfully wounded. “That hurts, Alexander. I may have embellished about a few finer details in the past—”“The first time we met,” Alec interrupted, the corners of his mouth turning up in an aborted smile, “you said Michelangelo was your lover. That’s physically impossible because you’re not six hundred years old.”A noncommittal hum rumbled in Magnus’ throat. “You know that for a fact? Interesting.”
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Writer's Month 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868773
Comments: 11
Kudos: 155





	Just a Little Bit of Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> written for writer's month: day 16 - history

“Needless to say, I was told never to set foot in Varna ever again.” Magnus laughed heartily, holding up his mostly empty flute of champagne to the handful of Downworlders gathered around him. There was a petal-pink flush in his cheeks from the alcohol, miles past tipsy by this point in the evening. Alec couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to Magnus’ every move—he was particularly animated, grinning broadly and laughing loudly, and it was exquisite.

Their world had been in chaos for so long, and taken such a heavy toll on them both; they were only just starting to grow back together. The Mortal Instruments had almost torn them apart forever, and to heal a great obstacle. Even though they had both sought and received forgiveness with one another, it still felt like the residue of what could have been clung to their lives in the most private places. Like in Magnus’ tender smiles for Alec—his Alexander smiles, as Magnus had teased once upon a time—that didn’t hold quite the same tenderness, and the few and far between touches of hands that only happened if Magnus asked permission and Alec gave it. There was a distance that could never seem to be crossed, two beings caught in Zeno’s Dichotomy paradox, destined to always be just far enough apart that they couldn’t reach each other.

Magnus met Alec’s eye across the room, giving him a soft half-smile. “I believe Alec and I have to be leaving, so you’ll have to wait a little longer to hear about the summer I spent as one of Claude Debussy’s mentors during his time attending the Conservatoire de Paris. The poor boy really struggled to commit to his craft.” Downing the rest of his drink, he set his empty glass on the nearby table and bid a warm farewell to his peers before joining Alec by marble and pearl fountain. “Thank you for your patience, I know these gatherings are hardly your favorite way to spend an evening.”

He leaned in to press a kiss to Alec’s cheek, lingering a moment just to press skin to skin. Such purposeful contact made a pleasant shock trail from his head to his fingertips. “The New York Gala only happens once every decade, Magnus.”

“The _G_ _ala_ _M_ _aiorum_ _,_ ” Magnus corrected, looping his arm through Alec’s. “Come on, let’s go home, hmm?”

It was raining gently when they stepped onto the sidewalk, and Magnus summoned an umbrella they just managed to both fit beneath if they pressed close. The smell of a cool rain was very well-received for Alec after being amidst the body heat of hundreds of people drinking and dancing.

“Is that story about Varna actually true?”

Magnus gasped, looking playfully wounded. “That hurts, Alexander. I may have embellished about a few finer details in the past—”

“The first time we met,” Alec interrupted, the corners of his mouth turning up in an aborted smile, “you said Michelangelo was your lover. That’s physically impossible because you’re not six hundred years old.”

A noncommittal hum rumbled in Magnus’ throat. “You know that for a fact? Interesting.”

“You gave me permission to look at your file at the Institute!” Alec laughed. “It clearly states that you were born in the early 1600s.”

Magnus pretended to think for a moment, rubbing the rough stubble of his goatee. “You know, I don’t recall them asking _me_ for that information. If it came from a third-party source, there’s plenty of room for error.”

By the time they reached the apartment building, Magnus’ warm and talkative drink-addled self had begun to give way to sleepy and slow. In the elevator, he leaned heavily on Alec’s shoulder for balance, holding one of his hands with both of his own.

It still made Alec’s heart flutter in his chest to be touched by Magnus in that tender way he had never known before. He loved Magnus in a way that he had never loved before, and with a wholeheartedness that scared him at times. He had never seen a passionate love in the marriages he grew up around, and the thrill of how brightly it could burn was matched by the terror of what happens when it’s snuffed out.

Alec steered both of them towards the bed once they got inside the loft, Magnus murmuring something about him being the prettiest boy to take him to bed in centuries. They help each other undress, Magnus undoing the intricate buttons of Alec’s dress shirt and Alec carefully pulling Magnus’ belt carefully through each loop to remove it. It’s a bit like a dance whose steps are precise but muscle memory has seen them through.

With a satisfied sigh, Magnus fell back onto the bed with his arms and legs extended like a starfish. “Nothing like your own bed at the end of a long day.”

Alec prodded him twice in the side. “Scooch.” Both settled under the covers, they lapsed into silence and Alec was almost certain Magnus had fallen asleep until he heard a muffled murmur. “Baby?”

Magnus rolled over to face him, his cheek now pressed hard into the pillow. “I never met Michelangelo. I never spent the night with Casanova.”

Alec was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”

“I did get banned from Varna for a lifetime, and I did mentor Debussy for a summer in Paris.”

“Magnus, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His tone was firm, but between one blink and the next, his glamor had dropped to reveal molten gold eyes full of tenderness. “I tell half truths and even lies about my history as a way to…cope, I suppose. I’ve had a complicated relationship with transparency. It got to a point where most of the time when I was open, it was used against me and I became weaker for it rather than stronger. It was easier to cobble together this history of truths, half-truths, and lies than be genuine with most people.”

Slowly, Alec’s hand slid through the sheets to reach for Magnus’, and he closed his eyes in delight for a beat when Magnus intertwined their fingers. “I know that I did that to you too. With the Soul Sword, and a lot of what happened after. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself, if it’s any consolation.”

“No, Alec, I don’t _want_ that, I just… If ever there was a time I needed to be understood, it’s now. With you. I’ve forgiven you for the way things happened, and you’ve forgiven me too; I love you, and you love me too. Things will be different as we learn from our mistakes, and this is one of mine that I want to make right.”

He nodded solemnly, bringing Magnus’ knuckles to his mouth to brush his lips softly across them. “Relationships take effort, right?”

“And you know I’m all for it.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](http://mysterioklaus.tumblr.com)


End file.
